


All My Roads

by Awahili



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universes, F/M, of all kinds - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awahili/pseuds/Awahili
Summary: A thousand lives, a thousand different roads. A look at Mitch and Jamie across the multiverse. Will be a collection of one-shots of different AU's that pop into my head.





	1. Worth A Thousand Words

There she was again. He adjusted his glasses and squinted to be sure, but there was really no mistaking her. Red hair, striking features, determined expression. She always looked like that, no matter where he found her. Walking down Fifth Street with a coffee cup in one hand, her head half-turned toward from the couple he’d been capturing. Sitting on a park bench reading a book with a title he couldn’t make out, distanced as she was from the impromptu game of football that had attracted him. His favorite was, not surprisingly, the first one. He’d been at the zoo breaking in a new lens, taking his fortieth or so picture of the baby gorilla that was the newest big draw. The exhibit was surrounded by a circular catwalk, allowing patrons to view the animals from above. He hadn’t seen her while he was there, but as he was skimming through the pictures on his computer he found her. She had been leaning against the rail on the opposite side, her eyes cast down at the troop but not really focused on them. He often wondered what she was thinking about, what could occupy someone thoughts so completely that not even an outing with an adorable baby gorilla could distract her.

This newest one was no different from the others. She was partially obscured by the main focus of his picture - a happy couple celebrating an engagement - but he recognized her handbag, of all things. It was a bright orange canvas hip bag, slung across her body by the single strap over her opposite shoulder. It was the only point of color on her otherwise neutral wardrobe, and it was at her side in every single picture she appeared. He often wondered at the story behind it. Was it a gift from a friend? A small piece of someone she’d lost that she now carried with her? A quirky thrift store find? 

Mitch sighed heavily as he sank back into his chair. Editing was his least favorite part of the process, but a necessary one. On a job like this, however, it was crucial. The bride-to-be was one of those particularly meticulous ones that wanted everything to be perfect. At their first meeting, Mitch had praised her attention to detail then called her a bridezilla behind her back. Her groom was just as critical, not content to sit back and let her make all of the decisions about their engagement photos. Mitch supposed that was a good thing; if given free rein, she’d probably control every aspect of their lives. She obviously enjoyed their sharp banter, and Mitch was content to let them hash out the details, only putting in his two cents when asked or when his own artistic eye gave them a different perspective. In the end they’d settled on an oddly traditional locale - the botanical gardens. Mitch had walked them through the spots, taking practice photos so they could review poses and backgrounds before doing it for real. 

It was in one of these photos where he found her. She was slumped over the rail of a wooden bridge, her forearms folded under her as she leaned out to survey the small koi pond beneath her. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to her, fifty feet by his estimation. He tried to remember the moment, to recall her in his real memory rather than through the lens of his camera, but he had been so focused on his clients that everything else had faded away.

Just as well, he told himself. He had no idea what he’d do if he actually met her in person. _Hi, you don’t know me but I’ve taken lots of pictures of you._ Yeah, that would go over really well.

But the more he tried to put it out of his head, the more he thought about her. It struck a chord within him to realize he’d never seen her smile. He imagined she had a beautiful one, and could almost picture the way her whole face would light up with it. Better still was the idea that he could bring it out of her, not because he was a photographer, but because he could genuinely delight her. Mitch closed his eyes and let his mind have another go at their potential first meeting.

She would be sitting alone, as always, a book in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He would approach her confidently, because in his imagination he was never clumsy or shy around women. She would look up, her face guarded and unsure about the stranger.

“Hi,” he would say. “Is this seat taken?”

A small shake of her head would be his only reply, because she didn’t have the time or inclination to pretend to be nice to a man she’d never met. He would sit far from her to keep from scaring her, and she would go back to her book.

“Do you believe in fate?” he would ask finally.

“I believe in cheesy pick up lines that don’t work,” she would respond, because of course she would have a wit as sharp as his own. 

“No, I’m sorry,” he would scoot just a bit closer and pull the photos from his bag. “Would you mind looking at these? And please bear in mind that I’m not a stalker, I’m a photographer. A professional one. I specialize in candid street photography mostly, though I do the occasional engagement or senior photo shoot.”

“What am I looking at?” She would be curious, but cautious. And he would just let her look, let her figure it out for herself. When she finally did, he would just accept the photos back and shrug sheepishly.

“It happened too many times for me to ignore any more. I told myself the next time I saw you, I’d at least get your name.”

She would seem to accept his explanation, but would remain hesitant. “You first.”

He’d hold out his hand in greeting and be surprised at the strength of her grip. “Mitch Morgan.”

Her mouth opened to respond, but only a shrill noise escaped. Startled, Mitch reeled…

...and fell out of his chair. He’d dozed off, his daydream easily morphing to a real one as he’d slipped under. The shrill noise sounded again, and this time he recognized his ringtone. He right himself and the chair, blinking back the last vestiges of the dream as he searched for the offending phone. It was buried beneath a stack of photos that fluttered to the floor as he swiped the device up and answered.

“Mitch Morgan.”

“Mr. Morgan?” It was the bride, and judging from her tone he was not going to like what she had to say. “My fiance and I were talking, and we want to reshoot our engagement photos.”

“Reshoot?” He thought about the hours of prep he’d already done on this set and bit back a groan. “That’s going to require a renegotiation of our contract.”

“Oh, of course!” she replied eagerly. “We understand, and we’re willing to pay you for your time.”

 _You mean Daddy is willing to pay_ , he amended silently. Aloud, he said, “Then what did you have in mind?”

******

“How goes the photography business?”

Mitch grimaced as he popped the top off the beer that had appeared in his hand seconds before. His closest friend (because he wasn’t really the type to have a _best_ friend) had stopped by his flat for their weekly dinner and catch up session. Jackson Oz was an odd combination of adorably scruffy and tragically humorless, leaving him little room in his personality for an active social life. His day job as a museum tour guide paid the bills, supplemented by his side business as a dog walker/trainer. Mitch had met him one morning as he was photographing museum patrons. Jackson had confronted him rather abruptly about his presence, and after Mitch explained that he was neither a private investigator or a stalker they’d parted on civil terms. Then, as Mitch was picking his way through the museum’s cafeteria lunch, Jackson had plopped himself down and started chatting like they were old friends. 

It was Jackson who had put Mitch in touch with their curator of modern art. The curator was a stern, austere-looking woman with a tight bun and a sharp eye. She’d perused Mitch’s portfolio and picked out the pieces she liked best, offering to display them alongside several other artists’ work in their upcoming Artists of the City exhibition. It was set to debut in a little under two months, and Mitch was hoping the exposure would land him larger gigs than senior photos and small engagements.

“It goes,” Mitch shrugged. “I saw her again.”

“Ooooh,” Jackson teased. “Your mystery girl? Where was she this time?”

“On the wooden bridge in the gardens.” He had already printed the photo off and shoved it into a small portfolio. He slipped it out and handed it across the table.

“She looks sad.”

Mitch was mid-drink, and he swallowed quickly to answer. “What makes you think that?”

“Her eyes.”

“You can’t even see her eyes,” Mitch snapped. It was a sore point, though Jackson didn’t know it. He’d never once captured her gaze, didn’t even know what color they were.

“I don’t know,” Jackson handed the photo back. “Maybe it’s just the way she’s looking down.”

Mitch took a closer look, bringing it closer to his face to squint at the image. He thought he might have seen a small furrow in her brow, though he couldn’t be sure. “She’s just thinking,” he concluded. Somehow, the thought of her standing all alone on the bridge with nothing but sad thoughts didn’t sit well with him.

Jackson opened his second beer of the evening and reclined in his seat. “You gonna try and find her?” He’d asked before, and every time before Mitch had shaken his head and dismissed the idea. This time, though...this time he hesitated, and Jackson perked up. “You should,” he goaded. “You should at least find out her name.”

“Okay,” Mitch accepted his point, “but what if I meet her and she’s a complete bitch? Or worse, an airhead?”

Jackson laughed. “I don’t think so.” 

“But how do you know?”

“I don’t know I just do. She looks like a thinker, you know? I mean, she went to the zoo and didn’t once gawk at the baby gorilla. She went to the park to read, the gardens to...I don’t know, brood or something.” Jackson gestured to the photo that now lay on the table between them. “Trust me, she’s not an airhead.”

“But she still might be a bitch,” Mitch countered.

Jackson just shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

And so Mitch found himself revisiting every place he’d photographed her, lurking at the park and even going so far as to enhancing his pictures to try and figure out which coffeehouse she frequented. But everywhere he went, he never found her. For almost six weeks he hunted every nook and cranny of the city, keeping a sharp eye whenever he went off to work in case she appeared in the background as always. There were a couple of false alarms and one very awkward interaction with a woman getting on the subway, but it was never her. 

It was as if she had suddenly disappeared. It was his luck, he mused darkly. Just when he’d finally gotten the courage to seek her out, to actually interact with her, she was nowhere to be found. He’d even gotten so desperate as to enlist Jackson’s help, but neither of them could find the mystery woman.

“We’ll find her,” Jackson said as he adjusted his tie. It was the night of the gallery opening, and Mitch had been allowed to invite a guest to attend the ceremony. Jackson had jumped at the opportunity to attend a museum function as a guest rather than an employee, even going so far as to go suit shopping with Mitch. Where Jackson had gone with a daring blue three piece and striped tie, Mitch had opted for a black shirt under a black jacket, accented only by a silver tie. He’d been going for the “enigmatic artist” look but Jackson just said he looked like he was coming straight from a funeral. 

“In a city of four million people? I’d have better luck finding you a date.” They’d hailed a cab on the corner outside Mitch’s apartment building and were waiting for the car to stop so they could climb in.

“Hey,” Jackson scoffed. “Let me worry about my love life, you worry about yours.”

“Maybe I should just forget about her,” Mitch sighed as he slipped into the backseat next to his friend. “I mean, who am I kidding? So she’s in a few of my photos? It’s just coincidence. It doesn’t mean we’re destined to be together, or whatever.”

Jackson gave the driver the museum’s address and waited until they were moving to answer. “You’ve been obsessed with finding this girl for months,” he said. “You’re just gonna give up now?”

“I’ve tried to find her!” Mitch saw the driver glance up and made an effort to lower his voice. “I’m not gonna drive myself crazy. I’m just gonna leave it to the universe. If we meet, then we meet. If not, then that’s okay, too.”

“That’s your new plan? Leave it to the universe?”

“Why not? Obviously I haven’t been able to find her in the last six weeks, so either she died, she moved away, or the universe doesn’t want me to find her. The first option is horrible to think about, the second only a little less so. That leaves the third. And who am I to argue with the universe?”

Jackson mumbled something he didn’t quite catch, but since it was (most likely) a derogatory comment about him, Mitch ignored it. He sighed heavily as he settled further into his seat, his eyes cast to the city passing through his window but his mind a thousand miles away. _Leave it to the universe_. It sounded like that new age, hyper-spiritual spew that he abhorred, but he was out of any other reasonable option. He turned away from Jackson slightly, letting his eyes cut up to the street lights, then beyond to the towering buildings. Finally he found the sky, lit up not by stars but by millions of city lights. Her picture formed in his mind’s eye, unfocused but distinct, and with one long breath he let her go.

“I hate these things.” Mitch had been overwhelmed from the moment they walked in, and after three hours of rubbing elbows, taking pictures and kowtowing to the suits in charge, he was done. The only redeeming moments were those where he caught patrons admiring his photographs. He’d even had one woman call him “innovative and daring,” though she hadn’t known at the time she was speaking to the photographer.

“Just a little longer,” Jackson promised. Unlike Mitch, Jackson was having the time of his life. He’d already eaten two plates of hors d'oeuvres, had a promising conversation with his department head regarding a promotion, and gotten the number of, not one, but two beautiful women. “I want to see if I can set up a date with Chloe.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Was that the athlete or the French woman?”

“The French woman,” Jackson grinned slyly. “There she is! Be right back.” He disappeared through a small crowd of attendees, and Mitch lost his wiry frame in the masses. He reached up and crooked a finger through his collar in an effort to loosen the tie around his neck just a little, but ended up yanking it askew. 

“Dammit.” He elbowed gently through a group of elderly women standing in the direct path to the men’s room, and when they parted he froze.

She was standing with her back to him, her eyes cast up on a photo of a young boy holding his mother’s hand as they navigated a busy New York intersection. It wasn’t one of Mitch’s, but as he watched her she shifted her gaze to the next picture. This one was his, and - as luck would have it - was one she was in. It was the football game in the park; Mitch had timed it just right, snapping the photo just as one of the young men jumped up to catch his friend’s throw. His entire body was outstretched for the grab, his fingers just brushing the underside of the ball, and underneath his frame in the background was her. 

Mitch was so stunned to be standing ten feet from her that he completely froze. His feet wouldn’t work, and when Jackson appeared rather suddenly at his side he found his tongue stuck in his throat.

“You alright?” Jackson followed Mitch’s gaze. “Holy sh-”

“Shut up,” Mitch hissed, dragging Jackson by the elbow off to the far wall.

“Mitch, that’s her!”

“I know.” Mitch ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced as he realized he probably just messed up the careful combing he’d done before the event. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean?” Jackson laughed. “Go talk to her.” He gave Mitch a little shove, but he resisted.

“I have no idea what to even say to her!”

Jackson just rolled his eyes. “How about ‘hello?’”

Mitch scoffed. “That won’t work.”

“Won’t work? Mitch, you’re trying to meet the girl not marry her. Hello is perfectly acceptable in these circumstances.”

But Mitch had already worked himself up and began pacing in the tiny alcove they’d found. “What if she hates my work? What if she resents that I have so many pictures of her? What if she calls me creepy and calls the cops?”

“Okay.” Jackson turned and walked away, slipping through the crowd more easily than Mitch, who had realized half a second too late what his friend was up to.

“Jackson! Wait!”

But it was too late. Mitch slid past a middle-aged couple sharing a plate of snacks to find Jackson already chatting with her. Dread filled him as they both turned in his direction, and he almost sank back into the relative anonymity of the crowd when Jackson beckoned him over.

“There he is,” Jackson was saying as Mitch stepped closer. “This is the photographer, Mitch Morgan. Mitch, this is Jamie. She _loves_ your work,” he added with a wink.

“Oh?” Mitch tried to sound as casual as he could, but the way the word squeaked past his throat probably gave him away. He cleared it and tried again. “Nice to meet you.” _Jamie, her name is Jamie_. He committed it to memory, along with the striking blue of her eyes. If he never saw her again, he would always remember her eyes.

“You, too,” she returned, rushing quickly on to point out everything she admired about the photo. Normally people commented on inane things - “you have such a good eye” was one of his least favorite things to hear - but her insights were well thought out and precise. Mitch didn’t even notice when Jackson slipped away, but when Jamie was done speaking his friend was nowhere to be seen. Panic set in and he sought for something to say.

“You know, you’re in the photo, too,” Mitch blurted out. At her quizzical look, he pointed to the small, indistinguishable blur on the bench in the background.

Jamie leaned in and squinted, and Mitch thought the way her head canted sideways ever so slightly was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. _Get a grip, Morgan_.

“Are you sure that’s me?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “I edited this image and blurred the background a bit more to bring the focus in to the foreground. In the original it’s easier to see.”

“But how did you know it was me?” She turned a bit and he could see concern creeping into her eyes.

Mitch smiled reassuringly (or at least he hoped it was reassuring). “Actually, you probably won’t believe this, but you’re in the background of a lot of my photos. At first I thought it was a weird coincidence, but then you just kept showing up. I’ve got four or five photos over the span of a few weeks that have you in them.”

The concern in her eyes was softened by the teasing note in her voice. “And now we border treacherously on stalking.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he rushed on. “I swear. I promise I was as freaked out as you are now. What are the odds, right? But I promise you, it wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t even know your name until tonight.”

Jamie laughed, and Mitch thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound. “I’m kidding, Mitch. Looks like the universe wanted us to meet.”

Something sang inside him at her words, and his heart pounded so hard he was sure she could hear it. Taking a chance, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m generally not one to argue with the universe. So what would you say if I asked you out for coffee tomorrow? I can bring those photos, if you want.”

“Would you bring more? I’d like to see more of your work.”

He was so shocked that she agreed that it took a few seconds for her request to register. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Great. So I’ll meet you at Busy Bean at ten?”

Jamie’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’d ask how you know that’s my favorite place, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.”

“Not a stalker,” he repeated firmly, relieved when he returned his smile with one of her own. “Here.” He dug through his pockets till he found a stash of business cards he’d grabbed just before leaving his apartment. Jackson had told him he might need them; he’d been right. “This is my cell,” he pointed to the ten digit number on the front. “Just text me or something when you’re on your way.” He hated texting, but he didn’t feel bold enough to ask for her number outright.

“I will,” she promised. “It was nice to meet you, Mitch.” She offered her hand to him, and when he took it he marveled at the smoothness of her skin.

“You, too,” he parroted, unable to come up with anything clever to say. She offered him one last smile that shot straight to his heart, then walked away.

It was several long moments before Mitch had gathered his thoughts enough to move, and when he did he was surprised to feel a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there before. He was sure Jackson would tease him mercilessly on the cab ride home, but he didn’t care. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached for it absently. He expected a message from Jackson asking where he was, but instead the screen only showed a string of numbers above two lines of text.

_Here’s my number. See you tomorrow. - Jamie_


	2. Staring at a Demigod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was Jamie's third summer at Camp Half-Blood, and she quickly realized that being a teenager was going to be way harder than being a demigod.

Jamie sighed longsufferingly. It wasn’t that she hated archery practice; it was just that - given a choice in the matter - she’d rather be doing anything else at all.

“Eyes up, Campbell!” The voice belonged to Ethan Boyd, son of Apollo and camp jerk. He also happened to be her ex-boyfriend, and ever since their breakup last summer he’d made it his mission to make her life a living hell. He wasn’t obvious about it, but Jamie knew a grudge when she saw one.

Her mother, after all, was the goddess of revenge.

Being a daughter of Nemesis wasn’t as prestigious as some of the other godly parents, like Athena or Apollo, but Jamie had never regretted her heritage. When her step-mother had died in an accident at work, Jamie had only been nine years old. She hadn’t even known about Camp Half-Blood or her birth mother, but even then she could remember being filled with such potent, righteous fury. It fueled her, kept her strong, even when her own father had been weak. Jamie had been the one to keep the house in order while he worked at a dead-end job, and when the time came to take Reiden Global to court, Jamie had put on such a masterful performance in the courtroom that the judge had had no choice but to award her family the full settlement. 

Jamie’s father had gotten remarried a few short months later to a woman who was clearly only after the millions in Joseph Campbell’s bank account. Jamie had been shipped off to boarding school shortly before her twelfth birthday. Her satyr had found her there, drawn to the quiet rage of a small girl who had been bullied one too many times. He’d kept her from inflicting too much damage on the older girl who’d teased her almost from the moment she’d walked through the doors. Still, Marissa Corteva would think twice before commenting about someone’s mother again.

“You need help with that?” Jamie spun around with a withering stare, stopping her would-be rescuer in his tracks. 

“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” She looked down at her bow in dismay, frowning as she realized her arrow rest had been filed down so far that the arrow wouldn’t sit properly on it. She struggled for a moment before relenting with a sigh and handing it over.

Mitch Morgan, son of Hephaestus, just smirked knowingly and took the weapon from her. His expert eyes found the problem immediately, and his free hand dove into the messenger bag at his hip. Jamie knew it wasn’t an ordinary messenger bag - she’d seen Mitch put all sorts of odd contraptions and sundry, but it never seemed to grow heavy. She’d asked him where he’d gotten it only once; the flicker of sadness and anger that had clouded his eyes for just a moment had kept her from asking again.

She couldn’t see exactly what he was doing - distracted as she was by the arrows still being fired all around them - but when he handed it back her bow was as good as new.

“Thanks.” 

“Sure.” He adjusted his glasses and turned back to his own weapon, lining up his shot and firing without much gusto. It missed the mark.

“Morgan!” Ethan Boyd was back, and Jamie thought she saw a little more than irritation in his eyes. Was he jealous? Of Mitch? That was ridiculous. She and Mitch were friends - best friends, to be sure, if Jamie could call it that. They were anti-social together, joking about those campers that seemed to take things too seriously and they usually gravitated toward one another in group settings. The only time they were apart was during Capture the Flag, when the Hephaestus cabin was on the opposing team.

Jamie had known Mitch for going on three summers now. He wasn’t his cabin’s head counselor yet, but he’d get the job next summer for sure when his older brother, Gavin, aged out. Jamie was already head counselor at fourteen, but she didn’t have an entire cabin full of brothers and sisters to contend with. At the moment, it was just her, her younger-by-a-month sister and two twin boys who had just been brought to camp that summer.

After another grueling hour of Ethan barking orders and Mitch making faces behind his back (Jamie might have accidentally laughed too loud at one point) they were released for lunch. Jamie knew Mitch purposefully arrived early to archery practice just so he could claim the spot closest to the bow rack. It made him an easy target for Ethan, who loved to hover by the steps so he could peer down the line, but it also made for an easy getaway at the end of class. Jamie always took the lane next to his. Their running joke was so she could act as a buffer between Mitch’s gruff demeanor and the rest of the camp, but lately Jamie had been drawn to Mitch’s side more and more. She enjoyed his quick wit and dry humor, and she had to admit that it didn’t hurt to have a son of Hephaestus in her back pocket when she needed something fixed or made. 

“See you at lunch?” Mitch walked toward the pavilion with her, knowing she’d break off at the cabins to grab a quick shower. 

“Sure.” She waved goodbye as they reached Cabin Sixteen, second from the right at the end of the original twelve. It wasn’t as large or showy as the cabins inside the horseshoe, but according to some of the older campers she should be grateful it was here at all. She hadn’t learned much about the Second Olympian War - only what she could wheedle out of Chloe, daughter of Athena and younger sister of the legendary Annabeth Chase - but what she did know made her glad she hadn’t been here at the time. 

She entered the cabin she called home every summer and tossed her bag onto the nearest bed on the right side. The bunk on the far end of her side was untidy, as was its partner on the opposite side of the dorm. The twins had taken to Camp Half-Blood like a son of Poseidon to water, and after Jamie had given them the grand tour of the grounds they’d darted off in search of hidden secrets. Across the way from Jamie was a fourth bed, this one made though hastily. This one belonged to her younger sister, Beth. Beth had come to camp the summer prior, and had grumbled the entire time. This year had been a bit better, but Beth hadn’t said two words to Jamie in the three weeks since summer started.

Everything in balance, Jamie reminded herself as she moved to the white board at the back of the cabin. It was here that any slights against the cabin’s residents were recorded. Beth had a long list of insignificant things - a daughter of Aphrodite had snickered when Beth had tripped during the last Capture the Flag match, a son of Hermes had switched out her Diet Coke with the real thing at dinner a week ago. The list was extensive, and Jamie rolled her eyes as she made a note of the little ticks next to each offense. Blue ticks meant the slight had been avenged, red meant it remained unanswered. Jamie wasn’t surprised to see a long list of red ticks under Beth’s name.

The twins were her complete opposite. In fact, they seemed to have placed blue ticks on the board that had no offense to correlate. Jamie wondered idly if they were trying to build up a store of them just in case or if they simply loved pranks. They were careful to steer clear of their own kin, and Jamie had warned them not to start a prank war with the Hermes or Apollo Cabins.

Jamie’s list was short. Only two offenses remained under her name; one from last summer that she was still plotting revenge for, and the one she would likely never repay. It was odd to see her father’s name there on the board, but Jamie could not deny that he had betrayed her, abandoned her at the first opportunity and left her on her own. Jamie had been lucky to be found by her satyr and to discover her true family here at Camp Half-Blood. But that didn’t excuse his behavior, and Jamie knew that one day she would reckon with it.

She debated with herself for a moment, then hastily scribbled Ethan’s name under her father’s. She didn’t provide any details - she never did - but it probably wouldn’t take Beth long to see it and call her out. Jamie had warned Beth not to see insult in every gesture or glance, but the girl seemed hellbent on being petty and vindictive. Seeing Jamie’s ex-boyfriend’s name on The List would definitely earn her a scathing remark from the girl, but Jamie didn’t care. She capped the black marker and set it in the tray with its more colorful counterparts. She had the whole summer ahead of her, and she was bound and determined not to let Beth or Ethan or anyone else ruin it. 

She thought of Mitch waiting in the dining pavilion, sitting at his own table with his half-brothers and sisters but nonetheless waiting for her to arrive. Jamie was surprised to feel the corners of her lips stretching up into a smile at the thought, and for once she didn’t try to slant it into a smirk or force it flat. It was still there as she stepped out of the cabin and into the warm sunshine. She could hear the chatter of the hundred or so campers up the hill as they gathered for their midday meal, and as a group walked by she fell into a quick pace behind them as her stomach started to rumble. It was definitely lunchtime.


End file.
